


Follow Me

by Dragondizzy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Longing, Other, Pirate Goddess, Sailing, Sexual Content, Teasing, pirate, the sea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-07
Packaged: 2018-04-03 08:26:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4093966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragondizzy/pseuds/Dragondizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A selection of short pieces/drabbles dedicated to each follower in Dragon Age.</p><p>Gradually updated ;) Chapters named for the companion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Follow Me

The sea is her lover. Slick and wanting, _always_ wanting. Even when moored she teases - a slight caress along the bilge, waves lapping, taunting. Cast off is an invitation, a promise. The wind sighs, tickling her nape as it fills the sail, eager to start. Isabela loves this moment – leaving the frigid land to begin the love affair once again, to feel the slight tug of her lover’s embrace, pulling her back into the fold.

The ship groans as it gains speed, each creak a building moan. _Yes._ Her lover answers with a gasp, her exhale billowing the sail and driving them faster, deeper. The prow spears through parting waves, spread wide to accommodate the imposing bulk. Isabela grins, tongue running over salt-dusted lips, capturing the taste of exertion, of _her._  

A strong breeze ruffles her hair and caresses her cheek in welcome. Land slips further from view, a bad memory that is forgotten with each thrust onward. The tides at the shore stretch forward, her fingers digging through the sand on return, clutching for purchase as the ship ploughs on. A laugh to the sky as Isabela watches. She knows how to treat her lover, how to make her roll the ship in ecstasy, how to coax the cries that fill the sails.  

Her lover does not reward complacency, oh no. She is fickle, ever changing in her desire. Some nights she howls, body thrashing in a desperate quest for release. The ship is at her mercy as she bucks, wood snapping and sails flailing. Isabela cackles as her crew panic, clinging to the ropes, eyes scrunched shut in fear. _Fools_. Here she is, passion incarnate, and they cower. Waves crash into the deck, those foaming fingers once again grasping, clawing.  A gale whips screaming through the air, showering her in a salty spray. _Take me._ The storm batters against her, soaking to the bone. No other lover consumes her so completely, raging for love to the point of no return. The exhilarating danger that this might be their last tryst, that it would end in such a glorious crescendo, well, such is the nature of her lover.

Yet she reaches her peak, and calms. Waves turn from clenching fists to loving strokes, as her panting shoos away the darkened cloud. Carefully, she rocks the ship, an apologetic lull. Isabela knows the truth however, lips curling into a smirk as she feels warm sunshine heat her back once again. Her lover is never truly sorry, her repetitive behaviour a blazing truth to this fact. It is small price to pay – to glide freely over her body, constantly teasing, caressing. Is it any wonder she climaxes so beautifully, roaring and roiling?

Sight of the dock brings a pang of sadness. However short the stay, it is always too long. Earth stays deadened to her touch, holding no movement or life to excite her. Nights are spent pulling those willing to her bed. She searches for her lover in the rolling of hips and rocking of bodies. She seeks out her brine in sweat-drenched skin, lapping eagerly with an attentive tongue. It is over too soon, and the stillness returns, leaving her aching more fervently than ever for her lover. As much as she is never satiated, neither is Isabela.

Days and nights pass, her bed companions never fulfilling, never quite enough. Isabela can smell her lover on the breeze, the perfume of a memory. She watches from the dock, jealous, as other ships sail forth to dote on her. Watches her betrayal as white tips tickle along battered oars; as she kisses protruding canon; as she accepts all willingly. A zephyr tucks past her ear and soars out into the blue, a beckon for her to return, to submit again. Chuckling, Isabela swirls her foot in the water, feeling her cold touch slip between her toes, a gesture of comfort. A promise, that as always, her lover will be waiting, and _wanting._


End file.
